


Gratitude

by AnnieVH



Series: Don't Come Back [10]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Bad Parenting, Gen, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 12:46:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7463826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieVH/pseuds/AnnieVH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm gets drunk with his lawyer and rants about parenthood.</p><p>Tagged Rumbelle for he entire verse, but there's neither appears in this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gratitude

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: past domestic abuse (including psychological, verbal and sexual), past child abuse, terrible parenting all around. Anti-Milah, anti-Malcolm. Rated mature just for safety.
> 
> Verse: Don’t Come Back, a Behind Closed Doors remix
> 
> Beta: MaddieBonanaFana

“I told you he was going to come back,” Malcolm said, with the satisfaction of somebody who'd just proven a stubborn person wrong.

Spencer nodded, “Yes, you did,” even though he'd never formally disagreed with that statement. After nearly two decades of being Malcolm's lawyer, he'd learned that Malcolm loved to be right, and the more you pandered to that need, the more money he was likely to pour into your pocket.

“Took him long enough to open his eyes,” he continued. Tonight, he was in the mood for long speeches. More often than not, that meant he was in a good mood. “I can't begin to imagine what that girl did to finally make him wise-up. Not that he wised-up all that much, mind you. He's still too petulant for his own good. And he tends to that boy of his like a mother hen.”

“How is the boy?”

Malcolm drained his glass. Spencer didn't wait for the request to fill it to the brim again.

“I'm still not sure,” he answered, after another sip. “Shy, which is infuriating. But at least he's not like that girl. So far, he's been out of the way.”

Spencer nodded, offering the other man a smile that was full of mockery.

“Malcolm Gold, a grandfather.”

Malcolm gritted his teeth. “Watch it.”

“Not that you look it, of course.”

That didn't seem to make his client feel any better, so Spencer kept his mouth shut while they both drank from their tumblers. As always, the other man's glass was emptying rather quickly.

“Kids,” Malcolm spat, after a while. “Bunch of ungrateful pricks. Junior's going to find that out the hard way.”

“Is that so?” Spencer asked, not paying close attention anymore. Around the third glass of Scotch was when Malcolm tended to go off track on long rants about nothing that mattered. As long as you agreed with him, he didn't even notice he was talking to himself.

“Bunch of ungrateful pricks,” he repeated. “All of them. I crossed the ocean to give that lad a better life and look where it got me. He ran off with the first girl who'd take him to bed. I tell you, Albert, you got away easy.”

A spark of rage made way up his throat with words he was ready to shout, and his limbs started to tingle with the need to grab his best client by the throat and kick him out. Spencer felt that urge at least once a month, especially if Malcolm mentioned James, even in passing. But he knew better than to give in to it, instead replying, “Don't say that,” with a pleading note that always made the other man roll his eyes. He probably thought a dead son shouldn't be a sensitive topic among friends. In his eyes, it was much better than having a _wayward_ son who gave up his future to elope with a pretty girl.

“I've showed it to him, didn't I, Albert?” Malcolm asked.

Spencer answered, “You did,” with complete indifference.

“He's back with his tail between his legs, isn't he?”

“He is.”

Malcolm chuckled. “I knew it.”

This time, he got up himself to pour the alcohol. He washed down half of it, filled it again, and sat down.

“Make sure to rub it in,” Spencer said. “You never know when you'll have the opportunity again.”

This time, Malcolm started laughing. A drunk's laughter, too exaggerated to be sincere, and so cruel that even Spencer was taken aback.

“You don't _really_ believe that Junior will leave again? He's always been a little freeloader, that's not going to stop now.”

“You made a contract for two months-”

“Yes,” Malcolm interrupted him, growing impatient. “And in two months, he'll be just as broke because he's a dumb boy who doesn't know how to handle money. Who's going to hire him with that leg? To do what? He's cleaning that shop for food and shelter.” He offered the lawyer a toast. “A fair trade.”

“And what are you going to do once he's done?”

Malcolm leaned back on his armchair and hummed, as if the thought of it gave him genuine pleasure. “Maybe let him plead a little. I'm not a cruel man. There's always something that needs to be done. Still not sure. But mark my words,” Malcolm said, pointing a finger at Spencer as if the lawyer was openly disagreeing with him. “Junior is never leaving that house again.”

 

 


End file.
